Never has it been more evident to me that I’m a writer as right now. I’m talking about a real writer. A person who writes for food. During the 5.5 years I was at Boxman, I created and executed marketing strategies, but mostly I wrote. Hundreds of posts, thousands of tweets, sales materials, strategies, proposals, and general correspondence. Since leaving there in January, I’ve continued to write my ass off. I had to write a strategy for my new company, and then all materials for the website. I had to write query emails and proposals. And when I get work, I continue to write. Yes, mostly they’re concepts and strategies, but the ability to put complex ideas into simple forms with words is what I do. I’ve also written for other people—blog posts and websites, sales sheets and strategies. Then there’s my personal (private) journal where I keep dark thoughts, my blog where I share loose thoughts, and business articles that reinforce my position as a marketing expert—so that I can continue to buy food. I also have four books in the queue. Four. One is already written, one will be written by other people, one is for business, and one is the story of what happens to Jim Christianson. And writing a book is more than just writing the book. You have to collaborate, craft strategies, write websites, etc. etc.

Always be writing, that’s my new motto. Evidently.

Finally, there’s poetry. Now I realize that the word “poetry” sounds romantic, but I can assure you that’s the farthest thing from the truth. Poetry is a wolf in your chest that wants to chase the breeze. And there’s almost no good in that. Certainly no food. But poetry doesn’t care that it’s Monday and you’ve got business to attend to. It doesn’t exist for you to control. Poetry wants you in the moment. Worst of all it tells you that it’s the reason you’re a writer at all, and that you’d damn well give it the attention it wants or else it’s going to rip a hole in your heart.